


Finger Bone

by Emblue_Sparks



Series: SPN Cold Hits [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Dean stocking prison wallets with style, Dean's pretend bad singing, Demon Dean Summer-of-Love era, Folsom Prison Museum, Multi, Typical DeanCrowley snark & banter, nondescript mention of pedophiles and trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emblue_Sparks/pseuds/Emblue_Sparks
Summary: Crowley's in need of a morbid artifact stored in the Folsom Prison Museum out in California, and like Hell is he leaving Demon!Dean unsupervised. Yet the clad-in-plaid's mischievous howl tags along, even when the moon's hovering in orbit over the Sunshine State.
Relationships: Crowley & Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Cold Hits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109714
Comments: 14
Kudos: 8
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	Finger Bone

**Author's Note:**

> New year, new challenges. I've seen the @spncoldesthits blog around, didn't know what it was, but its churned out some darn entertaining works. Since I am but a humble blip on the fandom radar anyways, figured I might have a shot at winning this thing once in a while. If not, well there's nothing like losing with a bit o' flair and fun.
> 
> Hugs to ioascc and tfw-cas for looking this over, and to Lucibae in the Armada server for the Correctional accuracy check! 
> 
> If you're reading this between January 15th-19th, thanks for contributing to my losses you jerks.

"You need a boner what now?" Dean grumbled, peering through the distorted bottom of his nearly empty, hours-old pint glass which had been resting on the bedside table.

"Pha-lang-ee," Crowley bellowed in stilted pauses, assaulting him with clinical terminology.

Minimal relief crept in as Crowley noticed Dean's mental gears begin to turn.

Dithering over his reply, Dean settled on, "Well I'm touched. But, ah..no thanks."

Of all the vile creatures under Crowley's dominion, all the drooling hobgoblins of hell that had him wanting to peel his face off, it was the tenacious human-demon abomination Dean Winchester. He was the very manifestation of angina.

"Wake up!" he barked and kicked the foot of the bed, "the _finger bone_ of a Maidu shaman, it's in Folsom California."

"Then whaddya need me for? Just bibbity bobbity your boo bitch ass there and back. Why do I have to go with you?"

Crowley sighed, "Because the carnage left behind by your breathtaking brand of ' _In my defense I was left unsupervised'_ isn't exactly the sort of mess picked up after by an exhausted mother with an average toddler, now is it? Get yourself together, we're going to prison."

Fussing under his breath Dean confessed, "Already been…"

The hangover from which the eldest Winchester must be suffering was nothing, compared with the bleeding eardrums of the previous night's karaoke victims attending the motel bar they'd been buzzing around the last few weeks. The man-slash-demon was an unexpectedly high maintenance menace, the likes of which even Crowley found taxing. He aimed a glare of infernal ire at Dean and ripped the covers off.

"Just..calm yer tits," Dean tiredly dismissed with a wave of his hand, wiping his face, and stumbling out of bed nude, towards his Levi's tossed haphazardly over the desk chair of the room.

Within minutes, they stood in a gravel parking lot surrounded by dry brown hills sparsely populated with thirsty looking manzanita bushes. The air was dry. The silence clinging to the location had Crowley anticipating that at any second they'd be hearing some High Plains Drifter tune from an old spaghetti western.

The stone structure surrounding the prison had turrets reminiscent of medeival castles and obscene amounts of barbed wire coiled atop the chain link fences. A portable building stood at the courtyard entrance beyond the security gate.

Dean shielded his eyes from the all-too-bright-for-his hungover-ass sunlight and asked, "What's this bone for anyways?" 

With mounting irritation Crowley begrudgingly informed, " _We_ don't need it. Bit of a need-to-know situation, and well you, darling-" he lazily gestured in Dean's direction.

"Don't need to know, yeah, yeah," Dean filled in the blank he'd stolen.

Crowley observed an abruptly keen mischief brewing in Dean's eyes before sliding on his sunglasses and announcing, "Hitting the little boys room, be back in a few."

Whatever, it was probably for the best and the most he could do to an empty bathroom was vandalize the damn thing.

Making his way into the portable building, Crowley perused the artifacts and artistic wares on display, created by the inmates. Some were striking paintings, others were various hand beaded bracelets. The welding and etching on the multitude of metalworks, were of impeccable craftsmanship.

Handing the clerk at the glass cased counter a piece of parchment, he observed the blood from the guy's face drain. With shaky hands he folded the parchment, nodded, then skulked off to retrieve the item. Crowley passed a short time in precious silence, until the inevitable alarms were blaring loudly from the four corners of the high security establishment. Rolling his eyes and popping his jaw, he recognized the hasty flight now upon them. Thankfully, the clerk swiftly returned, cautiously carrying a drawstring beaded bag, grateful for the diversion which would rid him of Crowley's creeptacular presence.

Ascending the ramp into the portable, Dean suspisciously appeared cool as a cucumber.

"Torturing inmates with karaoke, are we? You could've bloody well subjected the bar patrons at the motel if you'd just employed a modicum of patience, but no.."

Dean determindly fired back, "We should probably go."

***

Crowley perched at the motel bar, bored and fiddling with the umbrella of a fruity drink he was nursing while the days news droned from the mounted TV on the wall. He wasn't even really listening until...

_A gruesome scene greeted California correctional officers earlier today at Folsom Prison, in the Northern region of the state. Several cells were broken into by a man caught on camera whom authorities cannot identify, and have no idea just how he even made it past security. The section of cells breached held several men serving sentences for child trafficking and pedophilia. Prison medical personnel report the inmates’ fingers had been garrishly removed and found rectally inserted. With no idea as to the identity or the intruders whereabouts, the event leaves facility personnel and local authorities thoroughly mystified….._

"Discovered a fisting kink, have we? Must say, couldn't happen to a more deserving lot."

Standing from his stool beside him, Dean threw back another shot of whiskey. "You said finger bone. So I relieved a few honored guests of the state of theirs and boned them by way of stocking their prison wallets. An eye for an eye er..bone for a bone. Hell, half of them already have stuff crammed up there anyways."

A full term, pregnant pause hung between them. The blundering, plaid covered, demonic vexation had been committing a string of thoroughly uncouth breaches of etiquette with such startling frequency as of late, Crowley had given up keeping track. And yet once in a blue moon, Dean did so with just _the right_ _touch._ Even as a demon the guy had a conscience. That shocking fact had him practically frothing at the mouth in rage, as he couldn't decide whether he should declare Dean an appaling disgrace to demonkind, or dramatically fall at his feet professing his sincere admiration and undying love. 

"Cut the crap and just thank me."

Crowley leaned back, taking him in. "I appreciate the style with which you became such fast friends of those societal vermin this morning."

Dean B lined for the microphone resting on the bar stool atop the shoe box of a stage. Winding up for another torture pitch he pivoted jovially and asked, "That wasn't so bad was it?"

Crowley seethed at the infuriating, yet lovable demon Winchester.

With a classic 'here's looking at you kid' wink and a smile, Dean added in a smug tone, "Yer welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I grew up on Folsom Lake and the famous prison is nearby. The museum is cool and items which inmates handmake are for sale. 
> 
> A few fun facts: It was the first prison in the nation with electric lighting, Charlie Manson spent time there, 45,000-50,000 American auto license plates are made there each year, in addition to a few specialty plates. 
> 
> The Maidu are a Northern California Native American tribe who heavily populated the region until the late 19th century. 
> 
> Thank you to all correctional officers not only in California but everywhere, for helping thousands of incarcerated people stay safe💚

**Author's Note:**

> I grew up on Folsom Lake like near the maximum security prison. There was only ever one "escape" incident which was quickly resolved. 
> 
> The museum is an interesting spot. Fun facts:  
> It was the first prison in the nation to have electric lighting. Charles Manson resided there for a time. 40-50,000 thousand liscense plates and a few thousand speciality ones are made there each year.
> 
> Thank you to all Correctional Officers who keep incarcerated people safe.
> 
> The Maidu are a Native American tribe who populated the banks of the American River here in the Sacramento Valley until roughly the late 19th century.


End file.
